


and no shadow ignored

by Meskeet



Series: 2015 Year of Tuesday Fic [2]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: 1x09 tag, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Episode: s01e09 The Saint of Last Resorts, Snowstorms, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constantine doesn't sleep much anymore, Zed's noticed. Not since letting the demon in.</p><p>  <i>"You make your own prison," she'd told Anne-Marie, but she'd thought it about John first.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	and no shadow ignored

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. Hear that sound of my heart breaking because I left it too late to send it off to a beta before my self-imposed deadline. Once I get some edits in, I'll make sure to post any fixes. First time writing for Constantine too, but I'm finally (mostly) caught up on the show, and oh my. I have to admit, the hospital bed scene in Quid Pro Quo stayed in my head any longer than it had a right to.
> 
> Red_Tigress prompted me "characters trapped in a snowstorm", and although this is certainly not what she intended, this is what my brain went for. Originally I titled this 'keep careful watch', but I ended up altering it. Title is from the Midnight Guard card quote, "When you're on watch, no noise is harmless and no shadow can be ignored."
> 
> I know this went into my Tuesday fic folder, but I did have it ready last night even if Ao3 revolted and wouldn't let me load anything on the site.

Constantine doesn't sleep much anymore, Zed's noticed. Not since he let the demon in. He's always doing  _something_ , be it reading old books, practicing new spells, taking several cigarette breaks in a row, or hunting down his next exorcism.

Not that she can blame him. There's been nights where she's curled up on the sofa, shaking in the aftermath of her own visions. Chas probably sleeps the most out of the three of them: he, at least, doesn't have to worry about getting knifed in one of their motel rooms or watching a boy being torn apart by ghouls in the middle of a dream. Still, it's not like any of them have much more than fumes to run on, and Constantine seems to have the least fumes of them all.

She's pretty sure he's forgotten there's a switch he can flip off, as though the demon's exorcism left him running full-blast and unable to stop. She isn't sure she can blame him, either, because just the barest touch of his wrist while he was possessed had left her shaky and wanting to vomit at the oily blackness bubbling underneath the surface. Even now, when Constantine passes her by just a hair too closely, she can't help but watch to make sure some distance remains between them.

And he knows it and what's worse, she knows he knows it. Maybe a bit worse than that is the fact that she can't bring herself to do anything about it. They've spent so long revolving around one another that, now that they've both stepped back, she can't quite remember how to start orbiting again.

There's a fissure running between them, a fault line laying between them in a way even her visions couldn't have fully conveyed. John trusts them all a bit more, perhaps, but he also trusts himself a lot less. Zed doesn't need her visions to know that if she grabs his wrist now, he'll be rolling with his usual self-loathing and angst.

He passes her and shoves another book back into its shelf, cursing as he can't quite get it to fit the way he wants it to. The heating's out in here, and his breath curls up in the air. Zed watches him as best she can without looking at him, eyes remaining fixed on her own book, and her fingers tap out a pattern on her knee. She's snug in her pile of blankets on the couch, and has no intentions of moving until she must.

 _You make your own prison,_  she'd told Anne-Marie, but she'd thought it about John first. As John searches through another dusty tome, it's obvious that this is John making himself a cage to keep himself in and the rest of the world out.

He grabs his coat, and it's the fifth time he's left today to go out into the freezing winter. They'd been promised a snowstorm the night before, and it had arrived late – every time Zed glances out the window, she sees more dusty white piling up outside. It's pointless for him to try to travel in the snow, and she knows without needing to look at the map that it'll be another exorcism, just a feeble spirit that's overstayed its welcome after a séance. It'll leave on its own, which is why she finally speaks up.

"John, enough," she says firmly. He doesn't react, just adjusts his collar and makes sure his coat is settled onto his shoulders.

Something inside her splinters, just enough to make her rise from the chair before she's truly aware of what she's doing. Zed may have splintered a little bit but she doesn't quite snap, and that's why she forgets to truly think before she strides across the room. Her blankets fall unceremoniously to the ground even as Zed walks straight into John's space and grabs his wrist.

Touching him is like touching a live wire – he's all electricity and sparks and tension lashing about on the surface, but after a moment she recognizes there's also absolutely  _exhaustion_ running through his veins. Zed tightens her grip instead of recoiling, and she tugs him away from the door. They'd stuffed towels in the cracks earlier, but they're damp and wet from the snow and cold air hangs around the entrance like its own bubble of doom.

"There's a blizzard out there," she says, and it's true. But there's also a blizzard in here, a cold that withers and steals the breath away.  _Dread_ , she names it, even though the word isn't quite enough to describe the sensation. "Whatever it is" – teenagers, laughing as they call up an old ghost and screaming as the window breaks – "can wait."

It's true, and he can't deny that fact. Zed wouldn't have stopped him, not with the knowledge of exactly how many deaths Constantine shouldered every time he took a step forward, unless it  _was true_. She won't lie to him, either, and so for once reality provides a bit of good fortune to the m both.

"People are getting hurt out there," John replies. There's that hint of desperation mingled with altruism in his voice and his body language, the mix as flighty and feeble as a hare. He's been burning the midnight oil without cease, and she's not sure he has a drop to spare.

"Not tonight," she counters. "But you will be if you try to drive in this storm."

When John tugs his arm away, she lets him. She doesn't need any sort of physical contact to read him now.

"C'mon and sit down," she says and an order curls at her voice. Tonight she's annoyed enough and John tired enough that he submits without much of a fuss – when she sits on the couch, book back in her lap and legs curled up beside her, he sits beside her and helps her pile on the blankets. Zed carefully doesn't let out a breath, instead turning a page in her book and beginning the next chapter, burrowing her cold toes through the pile until they rest against his shin.

At first, he fidgets. When he starts to stand, she pointedly lets out a small cough and flips her page with enough force that the edge tears. Much like she had earlier, John drums his fingers in his lap, nervous energy manifesting in the habit. He shifts slightly, but this time it's to settle further into the cocoon of warmth they've secured for themselves.

Zed flips another page and another and another. As she's starting her next chapter, a weight presses into her side, a head tipping to rest between her shoulder and the couch. She smiles, just slightly.

They're safe here, safe from the Rising Darkness and all manner of terrible creatures. The only shadow that can enter their haven is what they bring in themselves – and, as John lets out a long exhale, she thinks it may be just a bit less after tonight.

Tomorrow he'll be back to his exorcisms, she knows. The weather won't be able to stop him from going to where he thinks he's needed. She doesn't blame him; they both have their own sins to atone for.

Maybe it doesn't matter that he trusts himself less after the demon. After all, he'd said it himself - they'd stayed by him through his crucible. Like she'd thought earlier, John Constantine trusted them a bit more by the end. Between her and Chas, and all the others that owe Constantine more than he will ever be able to admit, they can fill in the gaps the possession left behind.

Zed carefully settles her blanket tighter around her feet, careful to not jostle John beside her. She doesn't close her eyes to sleep – winter's always the worst time for visions, with people cooped up at home with nothing to stop them from meddling where they shouldn't – but instead flips to the next page. She'll guard this cage John's made for himself, at least until he's ready to open the door and slip back out.

She'll worry about tomorrow when it comes. For now, she's content to sit and read and keep watch for demons in the night.


End file.
